


And Time

by strangeallure



Series: It's the Great Mushroom, Charlie Brown [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Halloween Challenge, Hurt/Comfort, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Time Loop, Trauma, mycelial shenanigans, scary stuff, sleep paralysis (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: Canon-divergent from the end of 1x13 "What's Past Is Prologue".Paul finds himself in a different kind of time loop, having to re-live Hugh's death from different points of view. Is this his chance to change the past?





	And Time

**Author's Note:**

> **Series premise** : Paul and the Discovery crew are trapped inside a mycelial network still battling the effects of Terran contamination. They try to ride out the infection, waiting for the network to heal itself. Meanwhile, they are thrown into ever-changing situations they can only survive by working together. Stories stand alone, but tie into a larger arc.
> 
> Another fic stemming from all the wonderful Halloween prompts I found that has very little to do with Halloween.  
> Thanks go again to frangipani for pushing, pulling and invaluable feedback.

_**One** _

When Paul gains consciousness this time, it’s different. He tries to open his eyes, but finds that they’re already open. His vision is washed-out and filmy, like someone spilled milk alternative on a lens. And he can’t move – not his eyelids, not his limbs. He can’t even feel himself breathe.

After a few moments, his surroundings start making sense. The sleek white walls, the holo screens, the air that smells curiously clean, even for the artificial environment of a spaceship. Just as Paul realizes that he’s in sickbay, doors to his right slide open and a black figure enters, walking briskly.

“You called, doc. You find anything?”

He knows that voice.

It’s Ash Tyler, Hugh’s murderer.

Paul wants his hands around the guy’s neck, wants to dig his thumbs into his throat and crush his larynx, yet his stomach doesn’t even clench, his hands don’t ball into fists and no acid rises in his throat. He continues to lie prone and still on the biobed, confirming the disturbing disconnect between his consciousness and his body.

His eyes are cameras, impassive recorders, while his awareness, his self, is somewhere else. Paul’s only watching the video feed. It’s an unsettling, outlandish feeling.

“There are masses of scar tissue surrounding all your organs.” Hugh. Hugh’s voice, talking to Ash Tyler. Hugh still alive, arguing with Tyler about advanced tests and scan results.

If Paul’s body would abide by his mind right now, he’d vomit. Seconds ago, he would have denied it, but Paul remembers this scene, vaguely and in shadows, but with an undercurrent of intense dread, like a horrible dream a dear friend shared with him long ago.

This is when Tyler kills Hugh. This is the last conversation Hugh had before he died, trying to help someone, not knowing that that person was about to turn on him. Paul had been in the same room, yet unable to stop it.

Trapped inside the mycelial network that day, Paul had sensed that something was off about Tyler. That the lieutenant was dangerous, was the enemy.

Paul had tried to warn Hugh a few hours earlier, he remembers now. It was the first time Tyler had come to sickbay, demanding more tests from Hugh while Paul had been right there, stuck in a spore-drive-induced coma. Even in his torpor, everything inside Paul had screamed to warn Hugh. Finally, his panic broke through the prison of his body, barely long enough to grab Hugh’s arm and whisper, “Be careful, the enemy is here,” before the network pulled him back under. 

It was true, of course, but it was also useless, an ominous warning from an addled mind, nothing Hugh could take seriously or act on in any way.

A lost chance to save Hugh, to put an end to Tyler’s game; Paul unable to seize it. The knowledge weighs him down. 

Realization dawns. Maybe this is Paul’s chance at a do-over, maybe that’s what the network is trying to do, reset the timeline from this point forward. Hugh said, after all, that they could ride out the infection, that there was a chance to get everyone back to their universe, save and sound. What if this is it? What if the mycelial network is giving him an opportunity to be stronger, to traverse the rift between his consciousness and his body and save Hugh. It’s a dizzying thought, so much hope, so much pressure, all condensed into the few short moments still left of Hugh’s life now.

Paul doubles down on his efforts. _Wake up, wake up, wake up._ He tries to move, to focus his gaze, wrest back control of his mouth, of his vocal cords. Nothing happens. His body is an engine with no servos, humming idly in place. Technically switched on, but not good for anything.

His mind strains and struggles, fights like it never did before, not even during the endless sequence of micro jumps – _Move now, just move. Now-now-now!_ – but there is no physical feedback, no palpable consequences. His jaw doesn’t set, his molars don’t grind together. There’s no headache pulsing inside his temples, no tension hardening his muscles. His body lies absolutely still, useless machinery, completely detached from the battle in Paul’s mind.

He doesn’t listen to the conversation between Hugh and Tyler, he can’t. Time is running out and he has to focus everything he has, everything he is, on gaining domain over his own physical self. This time, he has to save Hugh.

_Just one sound, one gesture. A distraction, anything._

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re not you.” With sudden clarity, Paul knows that this is the phrase he’s been waiting for.

He rears up against his invisible chains, tries to smash the barrier holding him back with all his might, rebel against the forces confining him to this no man’s land of incapacity. _Do it, do it, do it NOW!_

There’s a short moment of complete quiet. Nothing happens, nothing is said. An irrational hope wells up inside Paul. And then he hears bones break and a dull thud as Hugh’s lifeless body hits the floor.

It takes another few minutes, an eternity, for Paul to move his body at all. When he does, he operates it like an outdated model he hasn’t handled before, maneuvering it clumsily onto the floor and pulling Hugh up against him.

He remembers this part. Holding Hugh in his arms, cradling him, Paul’s eyes still milky, but some part of his body knowing that this was the last chance to feel Hugh’s warmth, to feel his reassuring heaviness in Paul’s embrace.

What he remembers, too, is that body starting to cool where they touch, transform into an empty vessel, a dead thing.

Paul can’t cry with these filmed-over eyes, he can’t shout or mumble or moan, but inside his mind, chaos rages. Then everything goes cold.

Is this it? Is it over? Did he blow his one chance to save Hugh?

Something dims and dims, his sense of self growing fainter. It’s different from leaving the previous scenarios. Disturbingly, it doesn’t feel final at all. He’s a stream turning into a creek, into a brook, into a paltry trickle -- ever diminishing, but never entirely fading.

_**Two** _

He’s in sickbay, trying to focus on his work, pretending that it’s a day like any other, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Like they constantly do, his eyes seek out the biobed where Paul lies, motionless, eyes eerily white. He lets the warm ache flood him for just one moment, already familiar, stinging at his eyes, pulling his mouth into a helpless shape. This can’t be happening. They’re not supposed to be here. He should be enjoying Paul’s company, fidgeting his way through three hours of Kasseelian opera right about now.

Every member of the med team is so eager to help him get Paul back, to get their navigator back, but nothing seems to work.

They’re trapped in another universe, a hostile place, with no access to medical and xenobiological databases or any breakthrough technology that might be available via the United Federation of Planets. He can’t even contact off-ship colleagues or leading experts. Right when he could use every single instrument available to a Starfleet officer and esteemed medical researcher in his own right, he’s deprived of them all. Helpless in the face of Paul lying there, irresponsive and slack.

And then there’s the unpredictable bursts of activity: nonsensical, scared ramblings and aggression. He’s had to put up a security screen because Paul attacked him in his confused state. He hates to see what’s happening to Paul, to know that he’s suffering, but at the same time, it fuels his hope, knowing that _something_ is going on in Paul’s mind, that his body is able to move and think and talk, even when there seems to be no rhyme or reason to it.

 _I should never have let you do that last jump,_ he thinks. _I could have stopped you_. His rib cage is too narrow, his chest too tight.

He disables the energy field and crosses the distance. It’s not a conscious decision to touch his fingers to Paul’s cheek, thumb under his jaw, feeling his heartbeat, slow and steady like always.

“I’m going to fix this, Paul,” he says. “I promise.”

His name is like a spell-breaker, making Paul aware that this is not his own experience, that he’s inside Hugh’s body this time, feeling Hugh’s breath and pulse as his own, thinking his thoughts, sensing his emotions. Like Paul’s superimposed over Hugh’s life.

 _No, no, no,_ Paul thinks, screams inside his head. _This is all wrong. You’ve got it all wrong._

How could Hugh ever blame himself when the fault is all Paul’s? Why does the network make Paul live through this? There has to be some logic to it. There has to be a lesson to learn, a change he can make.

The warmth of being so close to Hugh, of being inside his feelings, is like a blanket he wants to wrap around himself. It’s emotional quicksand, too, derailing Paul’s own thoughts and purpose. It’s hard to keep his mind as Paul separate, not sink into the experience when Hugh’s hand strokes along the other Paul’s jaw with so much affection, his thoughts with Paul even after he’s walked away to check scan results on a viewscreen.

The door to sickbay opens.

“You called, doc. You find anything?”

The voice is like ice water, like expecting soft down and smashing into concrete.

Ash Tyler. Again.

 _Monster! Murderer!_ Paul screams in his mind, emotions so strong they blot out his awareness of Hugh for a moment. He has to calm down. All of this has to mean something.

Another time loop. Like the one before wasn’t painful enough, watching his crew die over and over and over at the hands of Harry Mudd. Trying and failing to make anyone believe him, again and again and again. At least he had had an ally in Michael Burnham then, had been able to talk and interact.

Now he’s helpless, sealed into Hugh’s body and experience - and with Ash Tyler in the room, only minutes from killing Hugh. Just like when Paul was trapped in his own body, hate wells up, but so does additional input, the thoughts and emotions and sensory input coming from Hugh. It’s dizzying, almost intoxicating, and it pulls him back under.

Hugh makes a conscious effort to focus his eyes on Ash Tyler before him, projecting professional concern, but his mind isn’t fully there. He’s distracted and he knows it, just as he knows that he shouldn’t be. The man in front of him has been through so much, he deserves Hugh’s undivided attention, but Hugh can’t stop thinking about Paul. There has to be something he can do.

Gathering himself, Hugh goes to the screen to show Tyler the chondroblast cell scans, the reason he called Tyler back here. He takes another look himself, and even on the second go-around, they’re shocking. Not just the sheer amount of scar tissue, but its localization, too. Hugh’s understanding of the data isn’t comprehensive enough to fully explain this to Tyler. He was so desperate for a distraction, he realizes, he didn’t think the implications through as he normally would. Hugh has no coherent argument yet, let alone a course of action to present to Tyler.

Ash Tyler winces when Hugh uses the term “bone crushing” to describe what happened to him, and Hugh almost stops -- the findings do bear more study -- , then decides to press on. A theory is forming in his mind, and the way Tyler reacts to some harsh truths about his physical condition might provide further clues.

“They appear to have shortened your radius, your femurs, even your spinal cord,” Hugh explains, maintaining eye contact, trying to not let his own horror creep into his voice. Only when the words leave his mouth does it truly hit Hugh what that means.

After Ash Tyler had first been beamed aboard Discovery, they had compared his test results to earlier scans from his personnel files to assess the damage. Back then, the computer had concluded that the lieutenant had been violently tortured, yes, but not maimed, certainly not in a way that would make him lose significant height and range of motion.

Things fall into place for Hugh, giving credence to the dread he’s been feeling.

 _Yes, yes, yes!_ Paul thinks. It’s like coming up for air. A wild hope tears through him, through this weird non-corporeal self. Hugh’s connecting the dots, drawing the right conclusions. 

Maybe he’ll see the threat before it’s too late this time. All Paul has to do is give him a little push, plant a single thought, a single action in Hugh to save him, prioritize his sense of self-preservation over his doctorly concern.

Putting up a containment field around Tyler might work, Paul thinks at Hugh frantically, or seeking refuge with Paul’s catatonic body behind the security screen. 

Instead, Hugh looks into Tyler’s eyes and sees the pain there, the confusion, not the imminent danger. Hugh’s focus and sympathy are like a strong sedative, pulling at Paul’s awareness. He feels himself drift away. _This man needs my help..._

Hugh tries to keep his voice even and his demeanor calm. This is mostly uncharted territory, highly experimental research. His thoughts slip away from him, turn back to Paul. How is he doing? Has there been a change in his vitals? Hugh’s instinct is to go over and check again.

But no, he has to stay focused. Tyler needs him, he doesn’t deserve to have his physician be distracted, especially under such horrible circumstances.

As Hugh talks about personality engrams, native identities and overlays, Tyler’s distress grows ever more obvious. He’s restless, rubbing at his thigh, shaking his head. His expression is haunted and his eyes are pleading, but there’s something else, too. Something Hugh can’t quite name. A sense of … recognition, maybe, that Tyler pastes over immediately, like he doesn’t even want Hugh’s words to make sense.

Hugh decides to conclude by stating the facts as plainly as he can. This is such a unique and terrifying situation, he should at least be honest about it. “It appears that the Klingons have transformed you.” He takes a breath and clarifies, “Both mentally and physically.”

Tyler’s face and posture change in an instant, everything about him a challenge now: “Into what?” An edge of desperation colors the bitten-out words. 

Hugh doesn’t want to add to Tyler’s distress and inner turmoil. Part of him wants to pat the lieutenant’s arm, assure him that everything is going to be alright, but Tyler might not want to be touched right now, and truthfully, Hugh can’t promise him anything right now.

Tyler did insist on these additional tests himself, after all. On some level, he must have known that something was wrong, and he wanted medical to know about it. It takes courage to ask questions you might hate the answers to. Tyler should be strong enough to face this.

It’s his job to help Tyler accept this state of uncertainty and keep calm while they wait for the results of additional testing. But everything he says is met with barely contained anger. Tyler even gets up and into Hugh’s space, using his height to loom over Hugh. 

Soon Tyler’s shouting at him. A raw, unfiltered reaction to such destabilizing news, especially under their current circumstances and with everything Tyler’s already been through. He’s a soul unsettled, trying to grapple with implications so far beyond what anyone should have to go through--

 _No, no, no,_ Paul tries to shout, _you’ve got it all wrong._ He can see the change in Tyler’s face, can see the monster behind Tyler’s eyes, clawing to get out, but he can’t make Hugh see it, too.

When Tyler insists that he’s needed on a mission, Hugh decides to be straightforward, rip off the band-aid.

“As far as I'm concerned, you're not you,” he says, calm but insistent. It’s brutal, yes, but it might help derail Tyler’s thoughts, so laser-focused on this mission right now. He has to understand that this is bigger than whatever the captain wants him to do.

There’s a moment of inaction, suspension. Hugh holds his breath without meaning to, seeing his words sink in, Tyler’s face breaking open with pain. He steels himself for another outburst, but once the pain sinks in, he knows compliance will follow. Tyler can handle this.

 _Run, Hugh. Now!_ Paul pours everything he has into this one thought, this one chance to change the outcome of this terrible situation.

He wants to make Hugh’s body move, seek shelter, fight back - anything to prevent what Paul knows is coming. It’s useless, _he_ is useless, and when Tyler’s hands fly up and close around Hugh’s head, the surprise Hugh feels is so genuine that something in Paul fractures.

It’s an odd sensation, feeling Hugh’s neck break from inside his body. One moment, Hugh has full control of his limbs, his breathing, his mind. The next moment, he’s paralyzed and his breathing stops. There’s not enough time for fear, surprise Hugh’s last emotion, his last thought only half-formed, reaching out to the Paul lying there on the biobed.

Before Paul can process what’s happening, it’s like a switch is flipped off, and there’s only darkness.

_**Three** _

He’s walking, fast and with purpose.

Dr. Culber called him about test results. He’s going to solve the problem. Ash feels his heart rate pick up, a hopeful anxiety rising in his chest.

He can deal with the pain, no sweat. He’s gotten used to it on the Klingon ship, welcomed it even – a sign that his body was still his own, was still alive. What he can’t deal with is this uncertainty, not being able to fully depend on his own mind. He let Michael fight alone on the Ship of the Dead, near catatonic with fear and flashbacks as soon as he saw L’Rell. He almost lost it again in the worker bee, needing Michael’s guidance to complete such a simple mission.

He can’t fail her again, and his gut clenches with how much he means it. Not when he’s supposed to be her personal guard on the ISS Shenzhou, her only ally on an enemy ship. Not when she’s the one thing keeping him grounded, granting him some measure of peace in all this turmoil. He can’t let her down. He can’t lose her, can’t lose her trust.

The doors to sickbay slide open in front of him, and there’s the doctor. Ash tries for casual, but it comes out with a rough edge.

“You called, doc. You find anything?”

The voice out of his own mouth shocks Paul into awareness: Ash Tyler. Murderer. Monster.

 _This can’t be happening_. 

For a split-second, as he gets to see Hugh again, Paul feels thankful. Hugh is there, alive and well, studying some scans up on a wall screen.

And then the pain sets in. There is so much of it. It’s in his marrow, his sinews, his muscles. A low throbbing ache like all of him is strained and tender, like his skin is stretched too thin over his muscles, raw and chafing.

Paul can’t handle it all, this onslaught of suffering, and it pulls him back into the vortex.

Ash sits down on the biobed in front of Dr. Culber, informal, approachable, trying not to let his anxiety show, even when the doctor asks about neurological therapies and marrow-diminution procedures. The words scratch at the base of mind, like an unpleasant tickle at his brain stem, although they should mean nothing to him.

When Culber asks about the masses of scar tissue, Ash’s almost glad to know what he’s talking about.

“Right. From my torture.” It rings strangely hopeful in his own ears.

He doesn’t want to be here. He should be preparing for his mission. Consulting Dr. Culber was a bad idea, and unnecessary. He can deal with this himself. He’s been through much worse.

And then the doctor talks about bone-crushing with a kind of sympathy that makes Ash uneasy, apprehensive. He likes Dr. Culber, he does, but right now he just wants him to shut up and leave him be, but instead the doctor goes on, detailing all the ways in which Ash’s body is wrong, broken. His pulse pounds like a war drum now, his head thrumming with vicious energy, trying to drown out the words.

Even in his confused state, driven deep into a corner inside Tyler’s mind, Paul feels the rising aggression and how it’s directed at Hugh. He summons all his strength to not let the roiling waves of Ash Tyler’s pain crash over him again. He has to keep his own consciousness separate and functioning. There has to be a lesson here, something he can do, some way to fix things.

_Leave, Tyler, just go. Run and don’t look back._

Paul’s silent plea has no effect.

It’s almost impossible to think through all that suffering, and Paul tries to figure out how Tyler does it. It’s like all Tyler has to himself is this single small sphere, and outside of it, there’s nothing but violence. Like being tossed along an untamed river. The sphere is beautiful, dark and smooth, a barrier with no ridges, no fissures, nothing to hold on to; it’s the only defense against the whitewater rapids roaring all around him. A prison and a sanctuary. It’s also fragile, threatening to break at any one moment.

What’s strangest, though, is the lack of reaction to all of it from Tyler. Like the pain has always been there, a given, not worth particular notice.

It’s a bizarre experience: so much suffering, so much stimulus, and have it be met with a total lack of response. An alien, disconcerting feeling that has no analogy in Paul’s life, making him stumble again and lose his way in this savage place.

Dr. Culber is talking about personality overlays now, and again, that should mean nothing to Ash. He’s a pilot, his mind screams, not a neuroscientist. He never cared about this stuff. But in some way, the words make sense to him, even though they shouldn’t. Every piece of information the doctor gives him is a challenge, a taunt, flashing light where Ash is desperate not to look.

He rubs his hand against his thigh to ground himself, shakes his head and shoulders to get rid of some of the nervous energy. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. It feels like his chest clenches around the air in his lungs, keeping it in.

Culber says the Klingons transformed him. Fucking Klingons. Even months after Ash’s escape, they’re still messing with his head. A thought crystalizes. L’Rell. She tricked her way onto Discovery when they saved Cornwell. He’s been having dreams about her, nightmares, and now she’s here on his ship. His torturer, his- he doesn’t want to think the word, swallowing thickly to keep it down. Of course that would unsettle him, screw him up. But the doctor doesn’t seem to see it that way.

Culber’s useless, he realizes with sudden viciousness. The doctor aggravates him now, the way his words simply won’t stop, driving sharp needles into Ash’s self-control, tiny gashes wrecking his sanity. He only pretends to care about Ash’s wellbeing, all he really wants to do is keep him from his sacred mission, his calling.

 _That’s not true_ , Paul screams inside his thoughts, willing the words to penetrate Tyler’s mind, but Tyler wears his hostility like a suit of armor. Paul’s words wash right off, and he can’t find purchase, nothing to ground him and stay present as a separate mind, the ferocious currents of Tyler’s mind dragging him under again.

Ash pushes himself off of the biobed, getting closer to Culber, hands imploring. “Doc, I came here for a solution.” It’s hard to keep his voice down, impossible to keep it steady.

Culber takes a step back, like Ash is a predator and the doctor’s his prey. For one savage moment, Ash thinks that maybe Culber is right to be afraid.

But no, he’s no threat, of course not. He’s just so angry that Culber is picking at scabs that should be left alone, that the man isn’t doing his job right, isn’t making him better.

“You said you could fix it,” he insists, a fierce need making his breath shallow and the words come out fast. There has to be a way to get this under control, to be the best he can be for this mission, for Michael. He has to protect her. Ash’s come too far to let Culber slow him down, keep him from fulfilling his duty, his destiny.

 _That’s insane!_ Paul howls from inside the cage of Tyler’s thoughts and body. _Hugh’s trying to help you, you bastard!_ In the maelstrom of Tyler’s mind, the words have no effect. They die without so much as an echo, taking Paul’s surging consciousness with them.

The doctor’s not interested in fixing him, Ash knows that now, he just tries to placate him, telling him to sit down like a child. Ash can hardly hear him anymore over his jumbled, many-voiced thoughts.

“I’m needed on a mission,” he barks out, trying to drown out the upheaval in his head. Ash’s temples throb with guttural sounds he can’t understand, but that still seem familiar. It’s too much, Culber's just another tongue trying to tell him what to do.

All Ash wants to do is leave, get rid of that grating voice asking all the wrong questions, sowing doubt when all he needs is resolve. Ash’s desperation is a loud, wounded thing, trying to curl in on itself so it can heal, but the doctor won’t let it go.

“I'm afraid you're not going anywhere without further examination.” Culber delivers his threat in a tone of finality. But Ash needs to be on this mission, needs to be on top of his game – that’s the only reason he came to Culber in the first place.

“They need me!” he shouts, so much anger roiling inside him, making his blood boil and his muscles lock, his head swimming with righteous fury.

And then Culber lands the final blow: “As far as I’m concerned, you’re not you.”

The moment lingers and stretches, everything inside Ash dying down, the voices, the anger, the ever-present pain. And then the sphere, this small bit of sanity he had managed to keep for himself, cracks and lets the darkness in.

Paul’s frantic, trying to get a hold of the sphere somehow, press it together, keep it from collapsing. _Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t,_ is all he can think before cold fury drowns him out again.

Ash understands the guttural words now, his orders, knows what he has to do.

It’s a fluid, practiced motion when he enfolds Culber’s head in his arms, breaking his neck with a single sharp crack, and his hands easily guide his victim’s fall to the ground.

A deep sense of fulfilment comes over him as he stands there.

Next to him, someone’s voice rises. “The enemy is here.”

That’s right he thinks, satisfied.

Ash’s eyes close, and he and Paul are plunged into nothing.

_**Six** _

**__** _No, no, no, no, no._

_**Nine** _

**__** _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop._

_**Thirteen** _

Paul quickly comes to hate his own loops the most.

Being inside Ash Tyler is awful, of course, a jumbled, sick mind full of pain and aggression, but it’s also overwhelming in a way that makes Paul lose consciousness of his own self long moments at a time. 

Even after the third repeat, the experience is so chaotic, so traumatizing, that he sort of fades through it in a haze. 

When he does come up for a few moments, he tries to focus on Hugh’s face, Hugh’s voice, tries to drown out everything about the monster whose body he’s imprisoned in. At least he gets to see Hugh this way, be close to him and feel like he’s the focus of Hugh’s attention again. Not as a lover, but as a patient, someone Hugh wants to take care of, like he always does, because that’s what he is. Hugh cares, Hugh helps. Or that’s what he used to be.

Being inside Hugh, even knowing what is going to happen, feels mostly like a good thing. He tries to submerge himself in the experience, feel every little thing, be aware of it, be close to Hugh in a different, strangely intimate way. The moment he enjoys most is just at the beginning of the loop, when Hugh looks at him, full of concern and love. Every reiteration of the experience brings new nuances, insight into all the ways Hugh loved him.

His eyes trace the line of Paul’s jaw like a caress, so much warmth and concern in that one glance. Hugh’s body seems constantly drawn to Paul’s, wants to be close to him, despite Paul’s catatonic state. Hugh has to consciously remind himself that he has work to do, that he cannot just stand by Paul’s bedside all day and hold his hand.

Guilt flares up in Paul still -- for the way his condition distracted Hugh, the way Hugh couldn’t fully grasp what was going on with Tyler, but it gives him an odd sense of peace, too.

He always knew that Hugh loved him, never doubted it, some truths universal, inviolable constants. Yet it’s different to be inside Hugh’s feelings like this, to know in a completely new way how Hugh felt about him. The emotions are … pure, for lack of a better word, and they echo Paul’s own. It consoles him as much as it aches. “It’s better to have loved _and lost_ than never to have loved at all.” Paul doesn’t remember the author, but he knows the quote must be several hundred years old. Hugh would laugh at him for remembering such a corny thing.

Being inside Hugh’s body, a body that always runs a little hotter than his own, like all his warmth cannot be contained, has to radiate out into the world, is his favorite thing, but it also makes him want to weep for all that’s gone.

Paul wonders what happens to all those tears he can’t cry, all those cries and wails he can’t make these bodies produce. Do they reverberate through the network somehow? Or are they lost forever. He doesn’t even know what he wants the answer to be.

So now it’s another loop as himself. Part of him still tries to effect some kind of change, to warn Hugh in any way he can. Maybe this time he can get his vocal cords to work or his hand to push the lockdown button. Anything that might save Hugh, but Paul’s hope fades further with every loop. He can’t even get his breath to hitch or tense so much as a single muscle. Instead he’s just a useless sack of bones and flesh. Lying there with limited visibility, hearing Hugh and Tyler talk, knowing the exact words, knowing the inevitability of the outcome. It’s torture.

Suddenly there’s that feeling again, that warmth in his chest, and he wonders if it is a kind of hallucination, but then he notices Hugh - see-through and ghostly, almost-but-not-quite-there next to his prone body on the biobed.

Hugh’s hand, familiar in shape but now transparent, makes to stroke back Paul’s hair, but it’s like there’s a buffer of air between them, like Hugh is this close and still could never touch him.

“It is torture,” Hugh says quietly, his voice more in Paul’s head than in the air, “but you have to know that it’s self-inflicted.” He smiles at Paul in a way that tugs at something deep inside him.

“No,” Paul objects. His body, his mouth, is immobile as always, but Hugh hears him anyway. The loop plays out behind them, Ash Tyler sitting down on the other biobed, agitated and aggressive, but Paul can’t care about that.

Hugh. Another chance to talk to him, to interact, to tell him how much he loves him.

“It’s the network …” but that’s not important, not right now, not when their time together is so precious.

“Hugh, I love you, I love you so much.” He’s said it before, the first time they met in this mycelial trance, when Hugh conjured up their quarters to calm him down, then guided Paul back into his own body. “You said that I showed you every day, but I’ve had time to think about it, and it’s not true.”

His lips don’t move and his voice doesn’t carry, yet this ethereal version of Hugh can hear it, small and desperate as it is. “I didn’t make enough time for you, for us. I was stand-offish and blunt and …”

Hugh shakes his head and laughs softly. “We were at war, Paul,” he says, “I had a lot on my plate, too.”

“Yes, but you always made an effort,” Paul insists.

“Don’t idealize me like that, Paul. I didn’t always try - and I didn’t expect you to either.” Hugh’s hand makes to pet Paul’s, but again can’t quite touch him. “I chose you,” he says, matter-of-fact. “I wanted to be with _you_ \- grumpy and single-minded and honest.” His voice rings clear in Paul’s mind. “I always liked that you don’t put on a mask, that you wear your heart on your sleeve, even on the days it’s black.” Hugh gives him a familiar, exasperated look. “But this isn’t about our relationship, this is about you torturing yourself.”

“It’s not me, it’s the network-”

“The network gives you the structure, but you decide what to do with it,” Hugh interrupts him sharply.

“Would I have caught on to what was happening with Tyler sooner if I hadn’t been worried sick about you?” Hugh’s eyes are large, the question a living thing between them. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. We will never know, Paul, but it doesn’t matter.”

“But if I could just warn you,” Paul interjects, “if you didn’t have to die.” The moment the network put him into this loop, there was no other option. He had try to get Hugh back. How could he not?

“What’s done is done,” Hugh says. “You’ll never get our past back, but if you can let go, if you can focus on what’s ahead of you, instead of holding on to things that are long gone, you might have a future.” He’s wringing his hands and it looks strange, like his palms are melting into each other. “Not the one we would have had, but a new one.” Hugh’s eyes are full with promise. “Maybe even with a place for me. You have to know I’ll never leave you.”

It’s a beautiful thought. For the first time in what seems like forever, Paul feels hope, but it’s a different kind of hope. Not of emerging from the loop with Hugh as he was, but of a future that still has Hugh in it, in whatever way he can get him. In a very real sense, Hugh is still alive, right here in the network. Guiding him to save this mycelial plane, to save everyone. It has to be enough.

“It’s like you said, right?” Paul whispers. “Nothing in here is ever truly gone.”

Hugh’s answering smile is the most wondrous thing. “Let go, Paul,” he says. “I know you will save us, you’ll save everyone of us.” He presses his lips against Paul’s mouth, and even that weird buffer of space that won’t let them touch can’t lessen the impact.

When the loop ends, Paul empties his mind, clears it of all thought. _Okay, Hugh. Let’s go._

This time, he doesn’t just fade into the next loop. Instead, he feels a decisive tug, the network pulling him into a new scenario.

Whatever those mushrooms throw at him next, Paul knows he can handle it. 

He’s going to save everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> This time I only hit one prompt (sleep paralysis/nightmares), but I did hit it pretty hard, I'd say.
> 
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